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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920770">Big in Japan</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosequartzstars/pseuds/rosequartzstars'>rosequartzstars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Bar, Drinking &amp; Talking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hinny, Hinny smut, Hotel Sex, Mentions of alcohol, Rockstar Harry, Smut, ginny is NOT a groupie she would never be, hinny au, hot bitch ginny weasley, i guess this is a songfic but not really</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:16:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,339</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920770</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosequartzstars/pseuds/rosequartzstars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is a famous rockstar out on a world tour— but when one too many meet-and-greets threatens to drive him insane, he takes an escapade out into the streets of Tokyo, where he ends up at an expat bar with a captivating redhead that seems totally unaware of who he is, or why she should know him at all, for that matter. (Muggle Hinny AU oneshot)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Big in Japan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Brief A/N: I got this one-shot's title, idea, and general vibe while listening to Alphaville's "Big In Japan" (a song I do not own, just to be safe in saying it). It's even referenced in the text— and I think it makes for a nice complement to the read should you decide to listen to it. :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The only sound reaching his ears anymore was that of his feet furiously hitting the ground, as he waved and wandered through the backstreets of the entertainment strip he was looking to get out of. He'd escaped through the backdoor of the concert venue they'd had him cornered in for a meet and greet he hadn't even wanted to take part in, but his manager had insisted he do to 'give fans what they wanted.'</p><p>"You're a rockstar, Harry," Matson had told him, when Harry had groaned at the idea and slipped forward on the patent leather couches that lined his red-colored office. "You owe it to the people who buy your records."</p><p>"I just think it's so fake," he'd protested, rubbing his eyes behind the glasses he <em>wished</em> he could've switched for contacts at this point but Matson had insisted gave him something like 'geek chic sex appeal', whatever the fuck that was. "The way I see it, it's pretty simple— I make music, they listen to it. That's it. That's the exchange. You throw concerts into the mix, and they get to listen live, but that's all. I don't have an obligation to pretend I <em>like</em> any of them when I don't even know them."</p><p>Matson had crouched next to him, dangerously close, and put his face up to Harry's with a snarl drawn across it: "You do what you say I do, Potter, because I made you famous, and I can just as quickly undo that. If I say you're doing a meet-and-greet, you do it. <em>Capisce?</em>"</p><p>At the time, Harry had gulped and nodded, swallowing his own personal opposition to keep Matson happy. But he knew he'd been right. And tonight had only proved it: after three hours locked in some cramped pavilion, swarmed by dozens of squealing fans who thought they had a right to dig their nails into his arms and press their cheeks against his for a photo, he knew he was losing his marbles. So when the venue people had called for a break and announced that he'd be back at 8:30 pm for more photos and signings, he knew he had to make a run for it.</p><p>He didn't care what Matson would say; at this point, his head was throbbing wildly and he thought the sound of fans shrieking his name would be permanently seared onto his eardrums. It was either this, or he would snap and flat-out <em>murder</em> someone— Matson, in retrospect, would surely thank him for choosing the former.</p><p>It'd been hard to get the security personnel off his back, but he'd finally shaken them off saying he badly needed to go to the bathroom. He'd sneaked off to the back part of the venue, slipped out of the artists' door, and found himself in a dark, slimy, foul-smelling alley.</p><p>God, he could've kissed the floor.</p><p>He'd known there was no time to lose, and he'd started sprinting without any clear direction, just knowing he wanted to get as far away as possible from the hordes calling his name. That's how he'd come to find himself making his way through the narrow back alleys of a city he was entirely unfamiliar with, trying to get somewhere where he could conceal himself without getting immediately recognized as the star on the posters and billboards that smiled down at him from every corner of every main street he'd transited. Why on earth had he agreed to a world tour?</p><p>This sentiment only enlarged itself as he continued spattering along a street parallel to a brightly-lit avenue, the neon lights and bright colors of Tokyo's main ways reflecting themselves on the shallow puddles lining the ground, rippling and dissolving whenever one of his shoes landed in one of them. He was a blur of warmth and sensation: he could feel his socks slowly beginning to drench through with the puddles he kept plowing through, he could feel his phone vibrating furiously in the holster hanging from his waist (Matson, no doubt, was going absolutely batshit), he could feel his chest heaving with the effort of his run and his lungs burning from his furious escapade. Every bit of his body —and his rational mind— was demanding he stop, turn around, go back. Find a taxi, it'd take him where he needed to go, and he could certainly afford it. It'd only be logical: he had no idea where he was going, nor where he was planning on ending up. But his visceral instinct kept pushing, kept him weaving through streets and alleys, away from everywhere where he might be <em>known</em>.</p><p>At last, he came to a closed-off alley with no way to go forward on his current path. He stood in the middle of it, whipping his head dazedly trying to find a way out. He calculated his options: he could turn back where he'd come from, but wouldn't Matson already have people on his trail? He could go off to the side that wasn't the main street he had run parallel to, but that would only get him away from the well-lit areas, and he wasn't sure how safe he felt going any farther than where he currently was. He was stuck. <em>Goddammit</em>, he thought, racking his brains for another solution, <em>any</em> solution, when suddenly a deep, melodious voice reached his ears.</p><p>"Lost, are you?"</p><p>His head turned abruptly toward the source of the voice. A door was open in one of the buildings lining the alley, and in the doorway stood a tall, slender woman with scandalously bright orange hair, which he could pick apart even in the faint sheen of the neon lights emanating from the next street over. The woman was leaning against the doorframe, and behind her, from inside the building, Harry could see even more splashes of neon and could make out the sound of rowdy conversation, underscored by the reverberant throbbing of a bassline.</p><p>"Yeah, I guess you could say," he laughed nervously, running a hand through the back of his hair in the way Matson told him to exaggerate more, because his fans kept making GIFs out of it.</p><p>"Hiding, too?" the woman said, taking a cigarette to her lips that Harry hadn't previously noticed was held between her fingers.</p><p>"What makes you say that?"</p><p>"You clearly don't know where you are, and nobody ends up randomly in this alley without intending to come here if they aren't hopelessly lost or in need of a hiding place."</p><p>"You got me there," laughed Harry again— goddammit, why couldn't he stop laughing nervously? "Yeah, I guess I <em>am</em> hiding."</p><p>"Thought so," the woman smirked, letting her cigarette fall from between her fingers and crushing it in one swift motion with the heel of her combat boot. "Well, then, you'd better come in. You're not exactly hiding if you're in the middle of a street in plain view, are you?"</p><p>Dumbfounded, Harry followed the woman into the building, looking over his back to make sure no one had caught up to him. She ushered him in and closed the door behind them, kicking the extinguished stub of the cigarette off the concrete steps leading up to the door. The embers flared weakly for a second or two before dying out entirely.</p><p>Inside the building, Harry took off his glasses to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimly-lit room more quickly, and as he began regaining focus he took in his surroundings. He was in some sort of bar, with neon signs lining the run-down brick walls and a heavy, old-fashioned jukebox blaring in the corner. The bar wasn't chock-full, but its cramped setting sure made it feel like it was, and the woman quickly pulled him over to a couple of empty stools at the bar, where she waved a barman over and made a gesture with her hands Harry could only suppose was a drink order. The barman bowed his head and returned to the shelves of bottles behind him, mixing whatever it was the woman had ordered for them.</p><p>He noticed how quiet he'd been throughout this whole sequence, so he cleared his throat and spoke awkwardly: "So I suppose I should thank my lucky stars you just <em>happened</em> to be outside."</p><p>"Went out for a smoke," the woman smiled coyly, and then looked to the barman gratefully when he set down two tall glasses in front of them. The liquid inside was cherry-colored and bubbling, and Harry took a sip without knowing what to expect. It was good, but a little strong— even through the thick fruity flavor coating his throat, he still felt it singe at his tastebuds.</p><p>"Like it?" the woman asked him, noticing his reaction. "They call it 'love potion'. Not my favorite, personally, but it's a good starting drink if you're coming here. And I can tell it's your first time."</p><p>"I'm not exactly a local," smiled Harry, looking down in mock sheepishness to wipe his glasses on his shirt, expecting any moment now it would dawn on the woman <em>who</em> he was since he'd dropped such an obvious lead-in.</p><p>To his surprise, she didn't fall for it: "I'm not either, you see— I thought being ginger would be a dead giveaway that I'm not from here, but then again, some are thicker than others."</p><p>His head jerked up in surprise: "You don't know who I am?"</p><p>"Why? Should I?" she responded with the amused raise of an eyebrow, swirling her drink around in her glass. "Well, you don't know who <em>I</em> am either, do you?"</p><p>"Oh— I'm forgetting my manners," said Harry, taking a sip from his own glass. "What's your name?"</p><p>"Straightforward, aren't we," she said in that same amused tone, swinging a leg over to sit more comfortably in her stool. Harry couldn't help but have his gaze drawn to it— she was wearing a very short skirt, after all, and the pale milky white of her slender leg would be enough to draw anyone's attention. "Ginny Weasley," she said, bringing his attention back up to her face. "And you?"</p><p>"Are you really asking, or just to be courteous?" Harry snorted, still convinced she knew <em>exactly</em> who he was but was trying to have her fun with him.</p><p>To her surprise, her stare revealed no knowing playfulness, but rather blank honesty: "Why wouldn't I <em>really</em> be asking?"</p><p>Embarrassed, he cleared his throat, grateful that the bar's dim glow concealed the red burn of his cheeks. "It's Harry. Harry Potter."</p><p>"Nice to meet you, Harry-Harry Potter," Ginny smirked again, clearing her glass with an agile throw of her head backward. She set the empty glass back on the bar and looked curiously at him again, probably wondering why he looked so surprised. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"</p><p>"You <em>really</em> have no idea who I am?" Harry said incredulously, making a last-ditch attempt at picking out whether this was some sort of practical joke.</p><p>She looked at him through squinted eyes, scrunching her nose in mock concentration, before she finally snapped her fingers (which the barman took as a cue to refill her glass). "Oh, that's why you look familiar! You're that git who's on all those posters on the metro stations!"</p><p>Harry's heart dropped: he hadn't expected her <em>not</em> to know who he was, but to only know him from his world tour posters was somehow even more shocking. "So you're for real," he muttered, oblivious to the barman as he now refilled his glass as well. "You mean you haven't heard any of my songs?"</p><p>"Are they very famous?" Ginny said sardonically, and Harry shook his head in bewilderment.</p><p>"You wait here," he told her, hopping off the barstool and ambling over to the jukebox in the corner. He looked through the catalog (which, despite being held inside such an artifact, had surprisingly modern options) until he found a song with his own name listed in the artist slot, then dropped a coin into the jukebox and selected it with the buttons. The previous song ended, and segued nicely into the one he'd selected; as he made his way back to the bar, where Ginny sat waiting for him, it was no time before his own voice began streaming through the bar speakers, eliciting some nods from patrons too oblivious to notice he was there himself, but who knew and liked his music well enough to recognize it quickly.</p><p>Ginny wasn't one of them, though: she stayed perched atop her stool for almost half a minute, cocking her head to one side and furrowing her brow as she attempted to make sense of the melody. Finally, her face lit up with something close to recognition: "Oh, <em>that</em>'s that annoying song they keep playing on the radio!"</p><p>"Excuse me?"</p><p>"I've heard it nonstop and I think it blows— but of course, if they were preparing for the arrival of world-famous rockstar Harry-Harry Potter..."</p><p>"Fine, you win," Harry grumbled, tossing his drink back despite it being nearly full. He grimaced: "By the way, I don't think I can keep having too many of these. A bit too sugary for my taste."</p><p>"They have a few stronger cocktails, if that's what you're into," Ginny said, already waving the barman over.</p><p>"No, actually—" Harry stammered, finding himself suddenly face-to-face with an expecting barman. "Actually, I'll just have a water, please."</p><p>The waiter nodded his understanding, though he couldn't hide an evident disappointment, and returned with a clear glass of water he set down a bit too harshly in front of him.</p><p>"A bit boring, for a world-class rockstar," remarked Ginny, draining her glass and signaling to the barman that she didn't want any more.</p><p>"Not much of a drinker," replied Harry, relieved at how the water finally dissolved the thick, sugary coating the cocktail had left behind. "What is this place, anyway? I didn't expect to get far enough with my English to order at a bar in Japan."</p><p>"It's an expat bar," explained Ginny. "For those of us who aren't from here, but are living here, and need a place to kinda share in that experience."</p><p>"So not a tourist, I see."</p><p>"Which is more than you can say," smiled Ginny, reaching for his glass and irreverently drinking from it before setting it back in front of him. "I'm a sports journalist. I'm here to do a special feature on the world of Japanese baseball. It's been fascinating, of course, hence why I've been here for a few months— and I'm considering not going back to England."</p><p>"I'm from England too!" said Harry hurriedly, excited at <em>finally</em> being in close quarters with someone who reminded him of home (Matson was, after all, painfully American).</p><p>"I can tell from your accent. Now that you're speaking, of course, not that awful crooning you're apparently so <em>famous</em> for..."</p><p>"I get it, I get it, you're unimpressed with my music career," Harry waved her off good-humoredly, and Ginny laughed. "Though I can't say I'm not surprised at the fact that you didn't even recognize me. I mean, you did say it, I'm on every poster..."</p><p>"Isn't that what you were looking for, after all? Someone to treat you like a human being again, not some fan-service product?" she said with a knowing expression, and Harry was taken aback by how true her words actually rang. "Besides, I think you need someone to pull your feet back onto the ground, make sure you're not getting much more bigheaded—"</p><p>"Much more?"</p><p>"Well, you're already at criminal levels of ego, if you ask me."</p><p>"It's easy when you're big in Japan," quoted Harry, a little, personal music joke he'd repeated to himself every time he'd thought the fan situation was getting too out of hand here.</p><p>"Alphaville," Ginny said almost automatically, and Harry —who had said it almost robotically— was pleasantly surprised at how quickly she'd caught onto his reference. "You're lucky I'm familiar with oldies rock, Harry, or else I would've thought you even more of an insufferable bighead."</p><p>He laughed, relishing how wonderful his name sounded coming from between her lips— his pure, unadulterated name, not tied to the fame it so often carried with it. Ginny was right: he was really enjoying being treated not as Harry Potter, international musical sensation, but merely as <em>Harry</em>. And when a girl this pretty gave you that feeling, no matter how much snark she peppered in, you <em>liked </em>it.</p><p>As if to remind him that he had little right to be just <em>Harry</em>, his phone exploded with sound at that moment, buzzing maniacally at his waist and emitting loud beeps that pierced the dull thrum of the music and earned him some unwelcome stares from patrons just trying to enjoy their evenings. "Sorry, sorry..." he mumbled apologetically, not really meaning to be heard, as he pulled the phone out of its holster and put it to his ear. "Yes?"</p><p>Just as he'd expected, Matson's voice erupted from the phone's speaker with more rage than Harry thought a man as small as him could ever muster: "Harry, where the <em>fuck</em> are you?"</p><p>"I—" Harry said, looking at Ginny quizzically, because he didn't actually <em>know</em> what this place was called (and made a mental note to self that, for future reference, it <em>may</em> not necessarily be a great idea to go into unnamed sketchy alley places in countries you didn't know, no matter how pretty the girl leading you into them was).</p><p>Matson saved him the trouble of asking: "Never mind that, I don't give a fuck. I've been trying to reach you all evening and didn't get service till now, so I can assume you're someplace sketchy, no doubt... What I <em>mean</em> to say is, who the <em>fuck</em> do you think you are, running out from your own meet-and-greet like that?"</p><p>"I'm sure you came up with something believable," said Harry nonchalantly.</p><p>"Of course I did, it's literally my fucking job to clean up after your messes— I told them you'd gotten sick off of some candy a fan gifted you earlier—"</p><p>"Perfectly defensible, those gummies <em>did</em> look rancid—"</p><p>"—but that their tickets were valid for a <em>new</em> meet-and-greet we're launching tomorrow at 3 pm before your concert," Matson finished.</p><p>Harry let out a groan so pronounced that even Ginny, who had no idea what was going on through the phone, raised her eyebrows in concern. "And I suppose I <em>have </em>to be there?"</p><p>"What do you think, butterboy?" Matson snarled. "I don't give a fuck where you are tonight, so long as you show up tomorrow <em>on time</em> and looking presentable. And I warn you, Harry, I'll be generous this time, but the next time you pull some bullshit like this I'll—"</p><p>"Yeah, yeah, see you tomorrow, love you," shouted Harry into the phone sardonically, already pressing the red button to end the call. He shoved the phone back into its holster and let out a deep, exasperated sigh, burying his face in his hands and tugging at whatever hair he could reach in that grip. Ginny allowed his tantrum a few seconds before piping up.</p><p>"Your agent, I assume?"</p><p>"Manager," Harry grumbled, lifting his head slightly from his hands. "I'm not an actor, I'm a musician."</p><p>"Well, you seem to hate it," deadpanned Ginny, swiping his glass of water again and not bothering to put it back this time. "What did you run away from, anyway? Why did you need a place to <em>hide</em>?"</p><p>"Another one of those bloody meet-and-greets," Harry sighed, looking up gratefully at the barman, who had replaced the glass of water Ginny had appropriated for herself. "I hate them, I don't want to do them, but Matson —my manager— says I <em>have</em> to, that I have some sort of obligation to fans, and I signed a contract with him for five years, so I have to put up with this shit for just a few more months until this tour is over."</p><p>"That's what you get for whoring yourself out to the music industry," shrugged Ginny, downing the remainders of the glass.</p><p>"You don't get it," said Harry, having evidently taken offense. "When I signed I was young, I was naive, and I wasn't particularly confident that my music was any good. He took me in, made me an image, made me <em>someone</em>... It's just that I'm not sure who that <em>someone </em>is anymore."</p><p>"God, you're so edgy," snorted Ginny, pushing the empty glass forward on the bar.</p><p>"I beg your pardon?"</p><p>"'Nobody cared who I was until I put on the mask'," wheezed Ginny in an overdramatic voice, and Harry couldn't suppress a small smile that cracked through his moody expression. "That's what you sound like, you big baby. You don't like it, but you signed up for it, so you suck it up and you see it through and once that contract is over you bare your ass and dance on his desk. That's what I'd do, anyway."</p><p>"<em>Bare your ass and dance on his desk?</em>"</p><p>"It's a metaphor."</p><p>"It most certainly is <em>not</em>—"</p><p>"Well, it doesn't have to be a metaphor if you're a not coward," winked Ginny, and Harry found himself laughing again. Hey, Matson had absolved him for the night, he was free until tomorrow at 3 pm— he was allowed to enjoy being a normal dude sitting at a bar with a pretty girl, wasn't he?</p><p>"How did I come to find you, Ginny Weasley?" he asked, settling into his stool much more good-naturedly.</p><p>"I suppose you were expecting me to swoon at your feet, but I guess it's just good I decided to go out for a smoke, because now some bigshot rockstar owes me a favor," smirked Ginny, but she too had shifted closer to him, the frame of her body leaning in.</p><p>"Is that what I am now, Miss 'I-Think-Your-Songs-Blow'? A bigshot rockstar?"</p><p>"Well, you are if that's convenient for me. And since it's convenient for me to tell my friends back home that <em>famous rockstar</em> Harry Potter owes me a favor after I singlehandedly saved his life from his murderous agent—"</p><p>"<em>Manager</em>, and it wasn't quite like that—"</p><p>"—well then, I guess yeah, you can be a bigshot rockstar," she finished, smiling coyly under arched eyebrows.</p><p>"Yeah, I guess it may open many doors for you in the realm of sports journalism to get publicity from some lowly pop musician," Harry quipped, and Ginny laughed.</p><p>"Oh, so now I'm a sports journalist instead of some girl who's enjoying a drink with you?" she said defiantly, and Harry had to admit he liked the sound of that last half. "Because this is beginning to sound like a very, very lame joke. A sports journalist and a world-famous rockstar walk into an expat bar..."</p><p>Harry laugh, the lead-in to the joke as good a punchline as any, and was delighted to hear Ginny laughing too— an airy, joyful laugh that did not at all seem to suit the sultry, sarcastic woman who'd sat across him the whole evening. But he returned now to something she'd said before, something his mind had hooked on to and couldn't let go. "So is that what this is, then? Some girl at a bar enjoying a drink with some guy?"</p><p>"Is that what you'd like it to be?" she said, something different glinting in her eyes.</p><p>He did something that surprised even himself, and reached across the bar to place his hand lightly over hers. "Yeah, I think I would."</p><p>Ginny looked down at his hand on hers, a bit taken aback too, but she seemed to decide she liked it and relaxed her arm to let her hand sit comfortably under his. "Alright, then, 'some guy', what's<em> Harry</em> like when he's not out there taking the world of mediocre pop-rock by storm?"</p><p>"I'll pretend I didn't catch that," said Harry, and she laughed —that same, delightful laugh!— again. "Well, you're never going to believe this, but before I decided to go into music professionally, I used to play a mean game of baseball."</p><p>"No way! You, a baseball player?"</p><p>"Well, I'm quite hunky, actually, for your information."</p><p>"No way," Ginny snorted, withdrawing her hand from under his to pinch lightly at his arm. "When your fans are apparently into this whole 'half-starved, caffeine-fueled nerd' thing you've got going on?"</p><p>"Hey, don't knock the image, you've no idea what my body actually looks like," he retorted, smacking her hand away playfully.</p><p>To his surprise, she didn't respond with a jokey gesture, but rather looked him straight in the eyes, a fiery new glint in her deep brown eyes as she got as close to him as their barstools would allow. "Well, then, I think I might want to find out."</p>
<hr/><p>The hallway on floor 4 was quiet, most of its occupants already having retired to their overpriced suites for the night, except at the door of room 4569 a certain messy-haired rock icon was struggling to get his key card inside the reader.</p><p>"Are you sure you don't want some help with that?" said Ginny teasingly, clinging to his arm and with her chin fitted nicely atop his shoulder.</p><p>"I'm sure I can— get it—" grunted Harry through gritted teeth, sticking the card inside the reader and then yanking it out all too quickly, wriggling the door handle futilely as if that would make the door any likelier to open.</p><p>"Can't see shit through those glasses, can you," said Ginny, tipping them playfully so they shifted and sat askew on the bridge of his nose.</p><p>"Well, it's dark, and you're not exactly making it any easier, are you," said Harry, his frustration growing. Wordlessly, Ginny sent an arm around Harry's torso, picked the key card out of his hand, and slid it effortlessly into the reading slot. The door emitted a faint beep, displayed a small green light, and when Harry twisted the door handle and pushed in this time, the door opened with a melodious click.</p><p>"How...?" was all that dully fell from his lips.</p><p>Ginny gave him a knowing smile as she pushed him aside lightly to enter the room: "I'm kind of a witch." Smiling faintly, he followed her in just as he'd done at the bar, and pulled the door shut behind him, once again eliciting that small click of the lock in place.</p><p>Ginny stood in the middle of the room, illuminated faintly by the automatic-turn-on lamps perched on the two nightstands on either side of the bed, and admired her surroundings much like Harry had looked around the bar. "So this is what a celebrity's hotel room looks like," she commented, her hands resting on her hips, which were slightly cocked outward. Looking at her from behind, Harry couldn't helped remarking on how wonderfully that skirt flattered her butt— but had to look away nonchalantly when she suddenly spun around to look at him. "A bit 'eh', really."</p><p>"A bit 'eh', is it," repeated Harry, undoing the clasp of his phone's holster and placing it on the little table by the TV, along with his glasses. "What did you expect? A presidential suite?"</p><p>"I thought rockstars liked traveling in luxury," Ginny said, dropping her purse by the leather holster and stepping closer to him.</p><p>"That would only make the pretty redheads I meet at bars call me a bighead," Harry said, his voice dropping low as he approached Ginny, placing one of his legs between hers and wrapping an arm around her slim waist.</p><p>Ginny's breath caught briefly in her throat before she looked at him through narrow, defiant eyes: "Bring a lot of redheads back to your hotel room, do you now?"</p><p>"Only occasionally," he said, bringing his face closer to hers, so close the tips of their noses were almost touching. Their faces hung like that for a few tense seconds, both of them unconsciously holding a breath back in their chest in anticipation of what came next.</p><p>It was Ginny who finally broke the tension: "Well, go on, then. You know you've wanted to since you laid eyes on me in that bar."</p><p>"I can't say that's not true," said Harry, feeling a flame begin to gather in his chest, giving him just enough courage to finally lean forward and press his lips to hers.</p><p>She was expecting it, but it still took a second before she responded enthusiastically, both her arms flying to wrap around Harry's neck and her mouth opening wider to take more of his kiss in. Harry's other hand met the one already around her waist, drawing her closer, suddenly very aware of how close her breasts and her pelvis were to his own. He wasn't especially promiscuous for a rockstar, but he <em>would</em> admit that he <em>had</em> used his fame once or twice to get a beautiful woman who so <em>ardently</em> wanted him into his bed. But Ginny was different: she hadn't known him. She didn't want to fuck him just so she could brag to her friends about having shagged a rockstar. She, in fact, couldn't give less of a shit whether he was or wasn't <em>Harry fucking Potter</em>.</p><p>And <em>God</em>, how badly that made him want her!</p><p>They ambled closer to the foot of the bed without breaking their embrace, letting out muffled moans as the kiss grew in intensity. Harry allowed his hands to drift down lower, settling over the curve of Ginny's butt, whereas she increased the kiss's depth, even nibbling lightly at Harry's lower lip. Their legs bumped against the bed's downy duvet, and Ginny took that as a cue to let her hands drop from around Harry's neck and settle farther down his body, expertly undoing his belt buckle without opening her eyes to distract from the kiss. Harry allowed a small grunt of pleasure to leave his lips, shivering at the pleasure even her fingers brushing against his groin was bringing him, before taking his own hands to the hem of Ginny's frayed olive-green top, pulling it over her head and throwing it aside. As Ginny undid his fly, pulling his trousers down and settling her hand on his bulge, above his underwear, Harry's hands wandered to her back, where his fingers worked on the bra clasp to undo it and throw it in the same direction he had the top.</p><p>They both pulled away from the kiss to finish undressing, desperate to cast every garment aside: Harry wriggled out of his underwear and trousers and almost tore his shirt as he took it off, while Ginny shimmied out of her skirt and fishnets and kicked off her combat boots without even unlacing them. Then, in their full naked glory, they stood in front of each other for a fleeting instant, allowing their eyes to sweep over the other's body. Ginny's frame was athletic, dotted in light freckles, with small, perky breasts with pink button-like areolas, and a pronounced trail of freckles leading down to the triangular mound of darker, almost brown, hair between her legs. Harry wasn't as hunkish as he'd seemed to promise at the bar, but his own body was lean and muscular, a trail of jet-black body hair similar to the one under his arms leading Ginny's stray gaze between his thighs, toward a sight she very much liked to see.</p><p>As suddenly as it had occurred, the spell broke: unable to contain themselves any longer, they flew at each other to grasp each other's bodies again in a passionate embrace, the heat flowing between them only having increased as their skin met in the middle. Their mouths crashed and began moving together again, eyes tightly shut to give all focus only to the sensation. As they kissed, Ginny took the initiative and sent her hand downward between his legs, grasping his dick and beginning to move her hand slowly and expertly up and down the shaft, almost overwhelming him with stimulation as he felt himself get hard. Harry let out a stifled, surprised whimper before responding in kind, his own hand moving to her breast and kneading it lightly, his thumb brushing over her nipple as he felt it harden under his touch.</p><p>The more each got into their touches, the more passionately the other responded, and soon they were reduced to a muddled, sweaty tangle of limbs where neither wanted to be the first one to let go. Finally, Ginny allowed a finger to brush along the underside of his shaft, right over what was his most sensitive spot, which made his knees buckle and sent them both toppling onto the bed.</p><p>"Good to keep that in mind for future reference," said Ginny huskily, and her hand was back at work on him before long, now pulling a bit more roughly and not-so-accidentally making sure to target the spot that had sent him keeling over.</p><p>"That feels amazing," sighed Harry in between breaths, diving in to kiss and nip lightly at Ginny's neck, determined to leave behind a tangible reminder of their encounter that night.</p><p>"I can do more," said Ginny quietly, trying to stifle the moans now collecting at the back of her throat. "You don't know what you're in for— I can do so much more."</p><p>"So prove it," gasped Harry, sliding himself further back on the bed and taking Ginny with him, so his head lay on the pillows. "Show me."</p><p>"Oh, I'll show you," said Ginny, giving his earlobe a light bite before reaching for the lamp on the nightstand and flicking it off. Her hand continued groping around the nightstand, and Harry knew exactly what she was looking for.</p><p>"Top drawer," he managed to eke out, before his voice dissolved again into the pleasured grunts that Ginny's hand was still bringing out in him. She didn't stop as she found what she was looking for, and she tore the wrapper open expertly with her mouth, her hand leaving Harry's groin to pull the condom out as her other hand held the wrapper in place.</p><p>Harry ached for her touch again, an involuntary, tortured groan even trickling from his lips when her hand stopped contact, but he didn't have to wait for long before Ginny placed one hand at the base of his cock and, pinching the condom's tip, rolled the rest over the shaft.</p><p>When he felt himself wrapped up, he turned Ginny onto her back so he was on top of her, and lowered himself down to kiss the space between her breasts, working his way up until he found himself at her mouth again, sending his tongue in between her lips for a deep kiss. She returned it for a few seconds, wrapping her leg around his lower back, and Harry thought he was going to die with the feeling of her crotch pressed so tightly against him. But just as he let his guard down, Ginny used the support from her leg to flip Harry over, so she was on top and Harry laid, startled, on his back.</p><p>"Not like that, Potter," she said in a breathy laugh, diving forward to press a kiss to his lips as her hands pinned his wrists to the headboard. "I'm on top."</p><p>She drowned Harry's incipient protest in another deep, wet kiss, and slowly sent her hand downward along his body. She allowed it to linger there for a moment, teasing him with her touch until he was almost begging for it, then gave his balls a light squeeze and eased him into her.</p><p>If Harry thought he was going to die before, he was now certain he'd died and go to heaven: being inside Ginny felt warm and almost silky, and it didn't take long before his hips began thrusting upward of their own accord, seeking to bury every inch of him he could possibly muster inside of her. Ginny liked it too: rocking her hips, she adjusted the angle so he could deepen his thrusts, one of her hands grasping Harry's thigh to hold on to while her other hand found its way between her legs, rubbing her clit in synth with the rhythm of their swaying.</p><p>Harry was unable to let go of the sheets bunched up between his hands: it took every ounce of self-control not to cum right then and there, seeing Ginny pleasing herself at the same time as he was pleasing him, seeing the expression of unadulterated bliss reigning over her features, not even trying to muffle the moans falling from her lips. Wanting to pull her closer, as close as he possibly could, Harry sent his hands to her waist, pressing her closer and steadying himself to go harder. Aware of the change in position, Ginny leaned forward, now holding on to his shoulder for support with her other hand still between her own legs. She was close enough to whisper in his ear, close enough that he could smell her —a mixture of sweat, cigarette smoke, and something citrusy—, and nibbled its lobe once again before muttering: "Fuck me, Harry Potter."</p><p>He didn't need to be told twice: he clasped his hands around her back and used them to rock her back and forth on him, at the same time as his hips rushed upward even more quickly to meet her own, tangling his lips in hers again to bring her body almost all the way down to his. Ginny liked the faster pace, because her moans became quicker and more high-pitched as her own hand rubbed her clit frenetically. They moved together, always picking up the pace, always going more intensely, until finally Harry felt something collecting at the pit of his stomach and thought he could hold it no further.</p><p>"Nuh-uh," said Ginny, sensing how close he was to bursting. "You don't get to cum until I've had an orgasm first."</p><p>Harry thought her dominance would be the thing to send him over the edge —and it almost was—, but he took her order diligently: his own hand replaced hers between her legs as his thumb rubbed circles over her clit, his mouth rising to reach her breast and his tongue swirling around the nipple he was sucking, the other breast entertained by a hand he brought up to pinch lightly at her bare nipple.</p><p>"Harder," Ginny grunted, struggling to collect enough air to gasp it out. "Oh my god, go harder."</p><p>Harry didn't need to be told twice: he switched his mouth over to the other nipple but his hand left her breast, instead holding her waist again to go harder, to bring her onto him with greater force, as his other hand continued working between her legs. Ginny's moans grew airier and less spaced, increasing in pitch until they were almost little screams, until she finally let out one big gasp and cried out, "I'm there, I'm there— oh my god, I'm there!"</p><p>Pleased at his work, Harry didn't stop the thrusts, instead taking his hand out from between her legs to join the other one on her waist and support himself as he oriented his thrusts upward, rubbing against where he knew her G-spot would be and feeling her smoothness touch his sensitive spot <em>perfectly</em>. It was Ginny that finally brought him over the edge: she lay backward, still bouncing on top of him, and gave his balls a light, teasing squeeze, at which point Harry could hold it no further and burst with a moan that was more like a whimper.</p><p>Both of them pleased, they fell back in bed, sweaty and panting for breath, but with more pleasure flowing through their bodies than either could've bargained for. They allowed each other to gather air back into their chests, taking a few moments to steady the rhythm of their breath, feeling the drops of sweat trickle slowly down their skin.</p><p>"That," Harry said finally, still speaking hoarsely, "was amazing."</p><p>"What do you think?" said Ginny contentedly, turning her head to look at him with that same mischievous look in her eyes. "Better or worse than all those redheads you meet at bars and then take back to your room?"</p><p>Harry gave a choppy laugh and then abruptly pulled her close again, pressing her breasts to his chest and intertwining his leg in between hers. "Considering you're the first," he said, tangling a hand in her fiery red hair and pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, "I think you've set a standard impossible for anyone to follow, redhead or not."</p><p>"Oh, good," Ginny said, returning the kiss and letting her own hands settle on his shoulderblades. "Because I'll definitely make sure to mention that to the tabloids when I tell them I shagged Harry Potter."</p><p>Harry let out a chuckle, muffled by her lips on his, and only kissed her deeper.</p>
<hr/><p>The next morning, Harry woke up still naked, feeling calmer and happier than he recalled ever feeling on this tour. The alarm clock on his nightstand, he was surprised to see, displayed the time as 1:03 PM. He rolled over in bed, expecting to see a beautiful sleeping redhead next to him, but found her side of the bed empty. He swung his legs out of bed and placed his feet softly on the floor: his clothes were still strewn across it, but hers were nowhere to be seen.</p><p>He got up, reached for the underpants within his grasp, and pulled them on groggily. He then ambled toward the closet, where he pulled a fluffy hotel bathrobe off its hanger and draped it around himself. He left the closet and groped blindly around the TV table, until his hand finally closed around the cold metal rim of his glasses. He placed them on his nose and blinked twice, allowing the room to come into focus, before a small note on the nightstand by Ginny's side of the bed caught his eye.</p><p>His heart pounding, he walked slowly toward the nightstand, and sat on the cold bed, her warmth long evaporated from it, with the note in his hands.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Harry-Harry Potter,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I don't want you to think I've run out on you or did a walk of shame out of here. It's just that you sleep like a log, and when 11 rolled by I had to get out of bed to make my noon appointment with this baseball player I'm meeting. Even if it did mean I had to give up on seeing how adorably dorky you look when you sleep— almost considered snapping a photo. Wondered how much the tabloids might give me for it?</em>
  </p>
  <p><em>Anyways, in all seriousness, I had a lovely time last night. You're funny, you're down-to-earth, and you're </em>surprisingly<em> great in bed— but what's more, I think you made me want to know you better. And no, I assure you, this has nothing to do with you being a celebrity or whatever (though it <span>will</span> make an interesting story to tell my friends when I'm back in England).</em></p>
  <p>
    <em>Obviously you're a busy man and you've got a lot of places to go and a lot of people to see, but just in case you have the urge to go meeting other redheads at expat bars wherever your <span>agent</span> takes you next, here's my number.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Whether we meet here again or not, I hope we will at some point, Harry Potter, because you are surprisingly amazing for how much of a bighead I thought you would be. And, of course, because your Alphaville references are surprisingly tolerable.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Call me soon.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Ginny Weasley XX</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Harry looked at those eleven digits, scrawled on the bottom of the little note, and felt his heart swell with something close to happiness.</p><p>Something told him that, no matter how hard he tried or how many countries Matson shipped him off to, no girl he met anywhere (redhead or not) would measure up to the sheer, unbelievable wonder Ginny Weasley had been.</p>
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